Lockhaven Prison
by iamthedickgrayson
Summary: Officer Dick Grayson gets assigned to be a prison guard for the Bludhaven Prison. His job seems fine- until the new prisoners from Gotham are transferred in. Is Billionaire Bruce Wayne really guilty? Who is the evil behind this? AU- rated T for graphic description of violence and language.
1. Promotion?

11

"Grayson," My boss, Amy Rohrbach, pulled me out of the Bludhaven Police Department's coffee room. I took a sip out of the already lukewarm coffee I was gripping in my hand while I was walking to Amy's office. Amy watched as I spit the coffee back into the cup. I grimaced and threw the deadly liquid in a nearby garbage can.

"You might want to think about investing in a new coffee maker…" I said, turning my attention to her. She snorted.

"Just make your coffee at home, _Officer_ Grayson." She stressed the word 'officer' with a sarcastic tone. My stomach dropped as I realized that I might be in trouble.

"What did I do this time, Boss?" I sat down on one of the chairs in Amy's office, twitching. Somehow, as long as I remembered, I could _never _sit still.

Amy smirked, and then chuckled as though she was thinking of something.

"Grayson, you didn't do anything wrong," I sighed in relief. "In fact, you are upgrading!"

I gasped as I processed. "What? Upgrading? To what?"

"Grayson, your badge?" I reluctantly placed my badge in Amy's outstretched hand. She didn't even spare a glance at it as she slipped it in a random drawer in her large, oak desk.

"Here. Now get out of my office." Amy slid a different badge across the table, and slapped a large file down onto the table.

I took them both and then hurried out. I looked back, and saw her smirk. She waved at me sarcastically. I gulped.

"Yo, Grayson!" A coworker heartily slapped me on the back. "Heard you got promoted!" The man's smile was disheartening. "Thanks for the new office, I was getting tired of the cubicles."

"The new what?" I asked, thinking of my newly earned desk, and plush roly-poly chairs. I shuddered at the thought of cubicles.

"Oh. You didn't know?" He had a fake look of sympathy.

"Know what?"

"Umm, your office is going to me, when you transfer." I nodded, until it dawned to me.

"WHAT?! THAT IS MY OFFICE, AND WHAT IS THIS ABOUT A 'TRANSFER'?" I yelled, waving my arms in the air, still clutching onto the manila file.

He leered, "Read that file, genius."

I snarled as he walked away, hearing the whispers of other coworkers. I looked around, and found a majority of the occupants in the room staring at me with pity.

What the Hell?

I muttered darkly to myself, while stiffly walking to my office. Eyes bore into my back, and I bit my cheek as I tried not to blush.

When I finally got to my desk, I slapped the damn file onto the glossy surface. Running a hand through my hair, I dully skimmed through the fat stack of papers inside of the folder, stopping when the magnitude of the papers seemed to grasp my mind.

I looked at the lone badge in my still clenched hand, and gasped.

_Prison Guard Grayson;_ was sewn onto a shield embroidery on the blue background.

My mind drew blank as I looked at the badge. No. No. No. There was no way in hell… the Bludhaven Prison was even more dangerous than the Crime Street in Bludhaven. I sighed heavily through my nose. I was not going through with this.

I got up, the lazy squeaks from my comfortable chair infuriating me further. _Amy…_ I growled, walking out of my office.

"Rohrbach!" I yelled, bursting into her office. I slapped the badge onto her desk and narrowed my eyes.

"What. The. Hell. Is. This?"

Amy shrugged, as if nothing was of the matter, and I had the sudden urge to just slap her or something. I struggled to control myself.

"You know I could quit, right?" I spat, slowly lowering myself into the hard chair across from her. Amy smiled.

"Just… just meet your new 'boss' first okay? Then I'll allow you to do whatever you want." She winked at me, and I sighed. Typical Amy. I knew choosing her to train me would bite me in the ass sooner or later.

"Fine, but-" I was interrupted when the door was slammed open, and someone walked- no I mean, wheeled in.

"Officer Grayson, I presume?" I heard a voice, but my mind had fainted, because seriously this woman was like a goddess or something, well a goddess in a wheelchair. Her red hair framed her pretty face, and fell over her shoulder in dramatic cascades of waterfalls. Her lips were full, glossy, and red. And those glasses, however nerdy they looked, filled the whole picture. I gasped feebly as oxygen came back into my lungs.

"W-what?" I stuttered, not missing the evil, sadistic smirk Amy sported.

"I'm the warden of the Bludhaven Prison. From now on, I'll be your boss. The name's Barbara. Barbara Gordon." She wheeled over to me, and held out her hand in a kind gesture. Oh god her smile was amazing.

I took her hand, and then noticed how strong her grip was. I love strong women.

"So, I assume you're up for the job?" She asked, leaning back into her wheelchair, as I resituated myself into a chair.

"Y-yea." I gasped like a fish out of water, because man her lips were distracting me.

"Don't mind Officer Grayson here, he usually answers with more than one word…" Amy called from the back of the room, crossing her arms. I ignored her, but paid more attention to the present conversation.

"Good. Amy said that you would make the perfect Prison Guard. I usually don't go out of my way to interview a new Guard, but I've been receiving a lot of compliments from your coworkers, and you were recommended so much that I just had to see you myself. Quite frankly, I'm impressed. You went from rookie, to respected officer in only half a year."

I nodded, though I wasn't quite that proud of the feat. There were many corrupted Bludhaven police officers; so many that you could barely trust anyone. The only person that I actually knew was good was Amy Rohrbach. She was still a sneaky bastard, though.

"If you want to become a Prison Guard, you do understand that you will have to work twice as hard to gain that type of respect? I just want to make sure that you're up for this job."

I thought about it. Barbara looked so hopeful. I sighed. I was probably going to regret this, damn my stupid hero complex…

"I'm up for the job." I stated. I wasn't doing this because my soon-to-be-boss was hotter than the sun, but because I knew that there weren't many people willing to be a prison guard. Hell, I was probably the only one that was thinking of working there to possibly prevent any breakouts.

Barbara gave me a curt nod, before handing me an I.D. card and wheeling away. I looked at the I.D. card and sighed as she left, placing my head in my hands as I sat. I was definitely going to regret this, wasn't I?

I heard Amy laughing.

"I thought you didn't want to 'upgrade'?" I looked up as she wiped a teardrop off of her cheek, probably from laughing too hard.

I sighed again. "So, when am I going to the prison?" Amy shrugged.

"You should actually read the papers in the folder." She stopped chuckling, and sobered up. "Grayson, I assume that you know that you are a great officer. I am not promoting you because you did anything wrong, it's because I think you'll do something good there. I'll regret sending you to that hellhole by tomorrow when the new inters start pestering me, instead of you… but I'm glad that you're helping Gordon. She's had it pretty hard, with Gotham being gassed and all… she is really such a fine young woman."

I lifted my head out of my hands.

"What?" I knew that Amy only acted like a sneaky bastard… she actually wanted the best for Bludhaven, no matter how crazy that sounded. I was curious about Barbara- I've heard the name 'Gordon' before. And what was this about Gotham being gassed?

"Oh, you haven't heard? Do you live under a rock, or something? Gotham is off limits, because some dumbass criminal there decided that poisonous bombs were 'fun'. He basically destroyed the whole damn city, and infected people within a close vicinity with the bombs."

My eyes widened. "Damn, only _one_ person did that?"

Amy nodded, then looked at me seriously. "Actually, the person who bombed Gotham was also the one who put Gordon in a wheelchair."

"What?! What the Hell happened to her? I thought she just got into an accident! Is the injury permanent?" I felt worried about Barbara, even though I had literally just met her. Weird.

"No, it definitely was not an accident. She was shot in the spine, just below her heart. Her legs are paralyzed. I believe the man that shot her was named… the Jester or something like that? I don't really know. It happened just before you joined the Police Force. Hell, I didn't even know that she was injured until her dad told me. James Gordon is one hell of a man…"

Amy had a dreamy look on her face as she spoke of James Gordon. I thought I would have never seen that expression on her face… and now I wanted the image out of my head. Blech.

Amy snapped out of her love-stricken state, and continued her story.

"But, James was commissioner of the GPD at that time… A lot has happened in a year… Anyways, that year, some idiot blew up Arkham Asylum, that's the place where they hold all the real baddies in Gotham, and the Jester, or whatever his name is, was transferred to the Bludhaven prison until Arkham was rebuilt. Somehow, he got out, and Barbara was caught in the crossfire. She almost didn't make it."

I tried to imagine her without her wheelchair, but couldn't see any image.

"Wow. Now I feel guilty for almost saying no to her." I stated, getting out of my seat, and stretching my tired limbs. I walked out of the room, glancing back and saying softly, "Bye, boss."

Amy might've been a bastard, but she was a great friend, someone who I could rely and trust on.

"Stay safe, Grayson."

I read the whole file when I got home.

My new job literally started tomorrow.

I gripped my new I.D. card and my badge, and went to a restless sleep.

It was disturbingly all black, in my dreams. There was a face among the darkness, but I couldn't see it clearly. The only thing I could hear was a maddening, distorted laugh, which sent goose bumps down my back.

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was my alarm clock. In bold, red numbers, it said eight o'clock. I was supposed to wake up at four.

I cursed under my breath as I hurriedly brushed my teeth and made toast. It took me ten minutes, but I hobbled out of my crappy apartment with one shoe half on, an apple juice box in my hands, and my I.D. and badge.

I didn't have my new uniform, so I just wore a black shirt with vertical blue stripes running from my chest to my sleeves. Huh. Where had I gotten this shirt? Oh well. The pattern was still pretty cool, anyways.

When I finally got into my car, I shoved my shoeless foot into a shoe, and took a breather. Damn, it was hard trying to hop down stairs with only one foot. Stupid elevator and its stupid technical issues…

Starting the engine, I simultaneously used the other hand to try and poke a stupid hole into the stupid juice box with the stupid straw that just refused to stay stupidly straight and UGH THE STUPID STRAW BENT. I groaned, and hit my head on the center of the steering wheel I was gripping in my hands. The loud BEEP made me grimace. I hate Mondays.

As my old junk car finally started to rumble to life, I sighed again, and drove to the Bludhaven Prison. My car was being stupid, and the gas tank was almost empty. I would have to fill it up on the way back from work.

I threw the unopened juice box somewhere in the back of my car, where I could feel it mocking me. As I drove into the Prison, I guess it was a good thing that I hadn't forgotten about my I.D. card. Without it, I wouldn't have been let in.

As I walked through the entrance of Bludhaven Prison, it was eerily quiet. I went into the prison even further, looking for Barbara's office. I was lost, until I heard wheels squeaking.

"You do know that you're almost four hours late, _Dick_." I froze, and slowly turned around.

"Sorry, _Babs_, but I had trouble waking up." If she had called me Dick, then I had a right to call her Babs. She arched a perfect brow at her new nickname, but acted as though she didn't care.

"Sure, sure, Dick. I'll let it pass, since it's your first day. But trust me, you wouldn't want to earn a bad reputation here, I'll tell you that. The few people who actually work here are serious about this job, and they wouldn't appreciate it if a rookie intern was running late everyday." She half teased me, the other half serious. "Now, come with me. Let's get you introduced with this place."

Barbara wheeled away, and I had to keep a steady pace to keep up with her. This woman was _really_ strong.

"Today's a big day. You know about the Gotham gassing, right?" I nodded, glad that Amy had told me yesterday. I did not want to look like an idiot in front of my new boss.

"Well, the Arkham psychologist wanted to send over some new patients of his, along with… _the Joker_, whom was the cause of the whole gas thing." I watched as Barbara narrowed her eyes while saying the Joker's name. So the Joker was the one who left Barbara in a wheelchair?

"Anyways, from what I read from the files, these new patients are really dangerous. Like, first class dangerous." Barbara wheeled even faster, delving deeper into the humongous building. I coughed awkwardly into my hand, as she remained silent. The sounds of my footsteps, and a squeaky wheelchair echoed around the long, white, walls, and left a forbidding feeling in my gut. "I even heard that the Bruce Wayne is among the criminals. Seems that he was caught red handed in smuggling drugs and whatnot."

I stopped walking, eyes wide. "Hold on. _The_ Bruce Wayne? The billionaire, Prince of Gotham? The same dude that donated thousands of dollars to orphanages?"

Barbara shrugged nonchalantly. "Yup. There are a lot of rich, famous people in the world that seem nice, but really are not. Take the Cobblepots, for example. They used to be billionaires, just like Wayne. Anyways, all I can think about is all that paperwork- not to mention the paparazzi. Jeez, I can't wait until Arkham is fixed." She shuddered. "I hate paparazzi."

She stopped talking, and wheeled on. An awkward silence filled the air again.

"So." I attempted to start a conversation. "Where're we going?"

Barbara beckoned at the upcoming door- the only thing that these hallways lead to. I gulped. Who knows what the doors covered up? There could be a bunch of inmates there, just waiting to jump us.

I looked at myself critically, a sudden doubt coming over me. If there were a bunch of criminals in there, what would I use to defend myself? "Um, Babs, what do I use to defend myself- if a prisoner went rogue? I mean, I gave my gun and Taser to my boss yesterday…"

Barbara smiled and said, "Dick, this prison does not allow law-standard guns, or battery operated Tasers."

I blinked stupidly. Firstly, what kind of answer was that? Secondly, why in the world would someone come here _unarmed_? And thirdly, did she just diss the weapons I had been using on field for the last two years?!

Barbara continued, after dishing out a good-mannered smirk at the look on my face. "In the Bludhaven Prison, only an idiot would come 'prepared' with those low-tech things." Her voice, and tone wavered. "I found out the hard way…"

I remembered the story that Amy told me, the one that explained how Barbara had lost all feeling in her legs. A wave of guilt washed over me. Who was I to complain about the weapons here, when she had experienced the failure of them in full hand?

"Uhm," I started, waking her out of her dark thoughts, "So, what do you use to fend yourself from criminals?"

Her pretty green eyes unglazed. "Well," Barbara unclipped a baton-like thing from the side of her wheelchair, "I like to call this the light saber."

"You mean like the '_light saber'_ from Star Wars?!" I took the offered weapon form her hands, examining it with a critical eye, trying to see if the weapon lived up to it's name.

"Yup." Barbara stated. "Handle it with care, Dick, or you might just get zapped to oblivion with hundreds of watts. This thing is only a few watts from being an actual light saber."

"How does it work?" I asked, sliding tentative fingers over the grip of the thing, it looked like my Ecrisma Sticks, the ones that I kept at home, stashed somewhere in my closet.

Barbara took the light saber back, then snapped her wrist back, only to make the weapon longer, kind of like a bo staff would extend.

"Cool!" I stated, greedily reaching for the thing. She pulled back, and flicked her thumb across the bottom of the light saber.

Electricity danced from the top of the weapon, and I quickly drew my hand away.

"Whoa!"

Barbara smiled. "I designed them myself. I got the idea after re-watching all of the Star War movies… in the hospital. You'd be surprised at how big the TV's are there."

I stared in awe as she gently turned the device off, and then clipped the light saber back to the undercarriage of the wheelchair. She started to move forward again, wheeling closer to the set of doors.

I silently followed, questions bouncing around in my mind. She gestured at the door, and I politely opened it, now that I knew that she had a suitable weapon to defend herself.

The first thing that happened when we walked through the door was a large fist, coming right towards my face. I automatically cupped my hands around the offending object, and used the force of the attacker against his will. Pulling on the fist, I flipped the man onto the ground, and put a foot on his chest to assure that he would not get up.

Barbara whistled from behind me.

"You okay?" I asked, whipping around to face the stunned ginger.

"Yeah." She said, her surprised face turning into the usual smirk. "Amy told me that you were good- just not _how_ good you were."

I shrugged, and then looked around at the room, my foot still on the subdued man. There was literally no one here, and "here" was a _huge_ room. There were two sets of long tables, attached to small chairs.

"Umm," I stated, confused, "Where are we?"

Barbara chuckled. "Well, you just passed the first test, so I suppose I can-"

Before she could tell me anything, the man underneath my foot stirred, groaning. Barbara nodded, and I helped the man to his feet. What was this… test she was talking about?

"Wowza! Who'da thunk it? I wanted to beat yer ass in- for bein' late. You ain't just some rookie, are ya?" I stared in confusion as he wiped his hands on his pants, and held his hand out. "I like ya. My name's Stan Lee."

I took his hand and smiled warily. But, man, his accent was awesome! Stan looked like he was in his early forties', though the white hair, completed with the mustache, definitely made him look older.

Barbara chuckled from the sidelines, wheeling over to the two of us. She looked at her watch, and then rolled her eyes, smile vanishing. "Now that you two met, I trust that Stan will help you get situated? I might seem like I have a lot of time on my hands, but I've got things to do, and places to go."

With that, she wheeled away, going out of the swinging doors that we came from, muttering darkly about paperwork.

Stan turned to me, smiling. "This here room, is the cafeteria. Not the prisoners cafeteria, mind you, but the Staff's. It's pretty big," He thrust his hands to sides of him, as if to emphasize 'big'. "And we're a little short in staff… but it'll do."

He walked to a set of doors that were marked 'EXIT'.

"This is one out of two doors that lead outside, without the need of a security card, and whatnot. It's only used for emergencies, and the prisoners here have no idea about them. You'll keep that secret, right? Don't wanna go and babble this to the inmates' here- ya never know what they'll do…"

I nodded, surprised that this prison even had, dare I say it, normal, functioning, doors that led to the outside. Hell, even the front door, or the gates leading to the parking lot were more secured.

Stan looked at me, a dark glint in his eyes, as if he was remembering something horrible. "You can never trust people, am I right?"

I thought about all the corrupted police officers in Bludhaven. "Yeah- I've had experience with back stabbers."

He tilted his head to the side, looking slightly intrigued. "Really?"

I flopped my hand nonchalantly. "Yeah. I was part of the BPD."

Stan gave me a curt nod, before his face lit up. "Oh gawd! I almost fergot ta give ya this!" His accent was back, at full force. He took something from his pockets and threw it at me. "I don't know if it broke while you were defendin' yerself, after I attacked ya, but here ya go."

I caught the object, seeing that it was a walkie-talkie, and stared at all the confusing knobs and buttons. This was clearly way more advanced than the standard walkie-talkie's they gave us in BPD. Amy would, no doubt, have had a field day if she saw that the Bludhaven Prison had better functioning tools than she did.

"And Barbara said somethin' about her givin' ya a schedule or somethin'."

He proceeded to give me the tour, showing me the locations of the bathrooms, offices, authorized places that only we could go in… the last past that he had yet to lead me to, was where they held the prisoners.

"Y'know, this building used to be a hospital. Barbara bought this place, and with the help of her father, she made it into a prison. The whole city pitched in with helping her, which, I'm afraid to say, wasn't much. It wasn't 'till Gotham started helping, when things started pickin' up. Barbara got so much from Gotham, that she done and built way too many rooms. That's why this facility's so darn huge. Poor girl still hasn't found out what to do with the extra rooms." Stan explained, poking his head through door after door and waving at people inside the rooms.

I glanced at the spacious halls and rooms that seemed to litter the building. A person who never came here before, could definitely get lost.

"Oh yea, I assume ya know all about the Gotham situation? Well, the Joker also blew up Arkham and Blackgate, the prisons over there. Since Gotham helped build the Bludhaven Prison, they're sendin' the prisoners they managed't catch before they escaped. I hear that there's gonna be _a lot_ of criminals comin' here."

He winked at a woman whom was walking out of an office. Her hair was black, sharply cut short, and she looked like she was in her mid-thirties. She was wearing a black dress, and held her head high with composure. Though she was wearing black, shiny high heels, she barely made a noise. She reminded me of a ninja.

"Yo, Cassandra!" Stan yelled, waving her over. She didn't smile, but her lips pursed in a straight line, one corner quirking upward. I had a feeling she didn't smile much.

"Meet Cassandra Cain, the spokesperson for Gotham. She was the one who decided to get Gotham to donate here." Stan beamed at her, like she was a goddess or something.

"Thanks, Mr. Lee. I wouldn't take all the credit, though. You can thank most of Gotham for helping, I just advertised the problem."

She looked at me critically. "Who're you?"

"Richard Grayson. You can call me Dick, though." I bowed in mock politeness. Cassandra rolled her eyes.

"You're a keeper." She threw a glance at Stan. "Is he replacing-?"

"Yes. Yes he is." He gave Cassandra a look that said 'shut up right now'.

I watched them in confusion. What were they talking about? Who was I replacing?

Cassandra gave me one last long look, before stating "It was good meeting you, Mr. Grayson." She turned and left on silent feet.

"What was that all about, Stan?" I asked, once she was out of my peripheral vision. "What were you two talking about?"

He sighed, and started walking again. "Just forget it. I'll explain later, 'k? Right now I need ta show ya where we hold the criminals."

The rest of the tour was in silence as I tried to not get overly curious about everything I saw. I noticed that we were walking further into the back of the building, going south. Boy, we had been walking for several minutes, and it seemed that we were still nowhere near out destination. This building was humongous! Finally Stan started talking again.

"Y'know Cassandra? Her father is somewhere in this prison. I hear he was some type of dangerous assassin or somethin'. Her assistant, Stephanie Brown, is Barbara's, like, best friend. Those two are very close. Well, she's also a friend of Cassandra's, actually, only one of a handful of people that can actually make her laugh. Now that I think about it, Barbara's pretty much friends with everybody… Aha! We're here!"

'Here' was a bunch of other security guards gathered in front of one steel door. The security guards all looked grim like they hadn't seen the sun in days, and scars littered on all their non-covered skin. Stan waved at one guard, his I.D. card that was pinned on top of his chest saying, "Bob", and that guard slid his card into a well-hidden card slider near the door.

The door clicked, and with an ominous squeak, it swung open slowly on it's hinges.

"Well, c'mon then!" With an encouraging smile, he pushed me in with him. "These are the low security cells, where all the sane, normal people are put. Y'know, like the child abusers, rapists, druggies, etcetera." I winced. 'Sane'? 'Normal'? I think Stan was underestimating the minds of those types of people. I wondered what the insane people were like.

"These criminals get ta leave their cells for workout time, breakfast, morning call, lunch, and dinner." He waved happily at the people in their barred cells, whom flipped him the birdie in retaliation.

I rolled my eyes. Seriously, these people would never learn, would they?

After passing many cells, most of them empty, we neared another door, only it looked like it was made out of titanium. There were more security guards crowded around this door, and they looked even more scarred, and depressed.

After we walked through this door, Stan's smile vanished, and he unclipped his light saber from his belt.

"These are the maximum security cells, where the cells aren't barred. They're basically rooms made outta metal. The only ways to see the criminals, are through the little rectangle in the door, which is barred." He pointed at one of the doors, and I saw the bars that were about eye level with me.

I shuddered as I caught eyes looking at me from the little rectangles. This was creepy as Hell.

"Of course, these cells are for the insane people, like the serial killers, murderers, mafia, gang members, and whatnot. They don't get ta leave their cells, so we gotta feed 'em by takin' their food into their cells."

We were nearing the end of the room when suddenly someone screamed.

"YOU PUT ME HERE!" Stan turned on his light saber, and walked towards the scream. It was one of the last cells, right near the other titanium door with even more security guards gathered around it.

Through the barred window on the door, a pair of red eyes looked at me. Clawed fingers reached towards me, and the horrible screech fell on my ears again. "YOU DID THIS TO ME!"

Oh. It was that crazy serial killer, which was also a cannibal- the one person that managed to evade the grasp of the BPD- until I was assigned the case.

We called him "The Vulture" because he mutilated the bodies he killed by, ugh; this still sent shivers down my spine, eating out the innards, organs, and eyeballs.

I still remember running into that dark, damp basement, gun in hand.

I remember that rancid smell.

At that time, I was only a rookie police officer. I was naïve. I had thought that there wasn't enough darkness in the world to make a man eat another human. I had faith in "The Vulture", even when the anthropologists had discovered the bite marks on the bones of his victims.

I remember seeing the one hand, lying in the spot of light from my flashlight on my gun. The hand- that was not attached to any body, was spewing a pool of red liquid.

I remember the 'squelching' sounds of my boots stepping on rotten flesh, maggots swarming and flies buzzing around the ground.

I remember finally reaching the mutilated body of the missing persons I had been tracking- Samantha Whitmore- her eyes gouged out, and mouth open into a silent scream that no one would ever hear. Her hands were cut off, and her guts were spilling out onto the ground like a red waterfall from a precisely cut opening in her abdomen.

I remember spotting The Vulture, A.K.A, John Parrigadan, hunched up in the corner, chewing intently on- something, probably human.

I remember his beady black eyes staring at me, as he seemed to realize there was no chance of him escaping his consequences, all the fight draining out of him.

I remember his hand shaking- stained in red, lifting a moving object up to the light of my gun. I had thought it was a bomb, but he just looked at me, and said softly, "You want some?" It was a heart- still beating and pumping blood desperately, even though it would do no good, since the heart's owner was already dead. I had almost vomited at the sight. My finger had stayed on the trigger, waiting to press down. This man was screwed up!

The vulture continued speaking, bringing the heart closer to his awaiting mouth. "It was hers, you know, the heart. I enjoyed ripping it out of her body." He shifted his stare at Samantha. His voice was so soft that I barely heard it.

After a long span of silence that seemed like hours, but was only a few minutes in reality, The Vulture said, "Well, if you don't want it, I'll take it." With that, he bit down on the organ, right as I shot his hand in deadly accuracy. He screeched, his hand squirting blood, along with the bitten heart.

I remember vomiting for several days due to the trauma.

"You know this guy?" Stan said, snapping me back to the present.

I nodded. "Yeah. I caught him."

Stan shrugged, putting his light saber away. "The guy seemed sane enough when he first came here… Until we served him some standard prison beef stew, and the guy- what was his name? Uh, John, I think, started screamin' his head off about blood, guts, eyeballs… pretty much all of the body parts. It kinda freaked out all of the other prisoners, especially when he almost killed his jail mate, so we moved 'im to this solitary cell. He's been hollerin' and screamin' since then, and he refuses to eat. We hafta force feed 'im with IV tubes and all that."

I frowned. How could one survive off of IV tubes for months?

Stan shrugged again, glancing nervously at John.

"I suggest we keep movin'. Wouldn't want people like 'im to get into yer head."

We both walked out of that insane part of the prison, leaving the room with John's screams and yells on our backs. It was a good thing that the door was sound proof, though I felt sorry for the security guards we left in there.

"This is the last section for the cells in this prison. It's for the Meta humans, y'know, for the people who are 'special'. So far, we don't have anyone in here, thank god fer that, since that would mean there would be Meta humans runnin' amok in Bludhaven, but I hear that there might be some comin' here from Gotham."

The room looked like it could contain a hurricane! I glanced nervously at the absence of the security guards that seemed to be every other section of the cell sections.

"Don't wanna worry ya, but security guards won't do jack if they were against a Meta human." Stan said, catching my gaze.

Great. That sure made me feel better.

**Author's note: WOW! I cannot believe it- I managed to fit Stan freakin' Lee into this Batman fanfiction! Anyone readin' this, who knows who Stan Lee is, please, feel free to review! I love reading reviews, it motivates me. It's like my energy. The more you review, the faster I write! Anyways, in this AU, Dick Grayson is not Nightwing- though he does have a couple of shirts with the Nightwing insignia on them in the back of his closet…And I introduced Barbara Gordon, the sexy red head that Dick is absolutely infatuated with. Lol nah. It was fun to write the part where Dick is basically droolin' over her. Anyways, I'm sorry to all you really devoted fans out there that actually know what the Bludhaven Prison is called, 'cause I literally have no idea what it's name is. If any of you out there know it, please review or somethin' and tell me, 'cause it's really annoying to keep on simply calling it Bludhaven Prison. I was thinking maybe 'Lockhaven Prison' would be an appropriate name… I don't know… ALSO I REALIZED THAT I NEED DISCLAIMERS, SO HERE IT IS!**

_**Disclaimer: If I actually owned this whole Batman thing, I would make waaaaay more movies including, or centered around Dick Grayson. In fact, Jason had his own movie "Under the Red Hood", Damian has "The Son of Batman", and Tim plays a big role in the Terry Miggigin's movie or whatever it's called (where Tim is the Joker), and Bruce Wayne is in every Batman movie. So yeah.**_

_**Uhhhh and now apparently, Stan's funky accent is now my typin' dialogue. GRAMMAR BE DAMNED!**_

_**Also, sorry fer all the grammar mistakes… I'm doing this unbeta'd. Sooo… anyone wanna be my beta? I really suck at grammar…**_

_**Remember, I love reviews; so comment, like, follow, alert, and… subscribe? Yea… I'm pretty new with this Author's note thing…**_

_**I'll try updating every week!**_


	2. All in one day

Bruce Wayne was an intimidating man. Coupled with the fact that he wouldn't stop glaring at me, I was surprised. He was- well, used to be, a goddamn billionaire! I thought he would be yelling and screaming for immunity, or some political shmuck like that. Instead, he looked calm and held his head high, as he was lead across the jail hallways, like he was just doing business with us, like he wasn't about to be thrown into a cell.

So far, Bruce hadn't said anything, which was a big relief since I probably wouldn't have had a reply. My mind was reeling, thoughts churning around it like a laundry machine. There was one specific question that was clear; why would he do it?

I've seen criminals, I've caught them, even went undercover as them. I knew how they operated, how they worked. There was always a motive. My undercover aliases all were made to have a motive, too. Yet, why would Bruce Wayne, an already successful billionaire, do something as foolish as smuggle drugs? Wayne Enterprises was the main source of Bruce's investment, so why would he want more? It just didn't make sense. Plus, underneath the playboy interior, there was, no doubt, a clever, calculating man. I mean, he did manage to keep his business running so effortlessly, even after his parents died. I doubted that a person like him would smuggle drugs just for the fun of it, either.

It also scared me a little to see how easily I could read the man. It was almost as if I had met him before. A slight feeling of Deja vu washed over me.

I was so deep in thought, I was startled to hear the man I was mulling over say something to me.

"Um… what? Could you repeat that?" I winced as the loud voice of my self-conscious yelled at me to pay attention.

"I said," He stopped walking, and turned around so he was facing me. I was annoyed to see the amused smirk set on his face. His handcuffs clinked rather loudly in the silence of the white hallways, "I think we missed my cell."

"What?" Indignant, I checked our surroundings. Well shit.

"How did you know that?" Curiosity peaking, I glanced back at him.

"Well, we did walk past a door that had a bunch of security guards surrounding it."

I shrugged, and played along. "You'd need more evidence than that to make such an assumption, you know." If I'd tried to arrest someone based on something like that, I would've been fired by now.

"Let me finish," The amused smirk was back. "The guards seemed excited, and I bet they don't enjoy just sitting there."

I cocked my head to the side, listening intently. Where was he getting at?

"So, I assumed it was because a certain billionaire was coming, and they were so engrossed in checking their cameras they didn't even notice us passing them. That made me jump to the conclusion that they weren't paying attention because they were waiting for us, so that means we were supposed to stop there, presumably to gain access to the cell holding area. Lastly, the door they were guarding was made out of the strongest material in the place so far, or so I've seen. Oh, and FYI, I wouldn't trust that one guard, Joe, he could be easily bribed by me, or anyone with large amounts of money."

Bewildered, my mind raced. "Okay, so now that you've proven your great, not to mention smart, observational skills, I want to ask you a question." The past nervousness of not wanting to talk to Bruce was completely, and utterly, gone.

Bruce nodded, and we continued walking, the right way this time.

"Why? I certainly know that you're smart- you just confirmed it; so why would such a person like you, get involved in smuggling drugs? I mean, it makes absolutely no sense. Also, if you actually did smuggle drugs, I bet you of all people wouldn't get caught. But Hell, you don't even have an emergency bail planned to get yourself out of here!"

Bruce looked at me, a surprised yet hopeful glint in his eyes.

"You really think that?"

I nodded, feeling quite better than my thoughts were actually said.

Bruce lowered his voice, "-"

He looked up, tensed, and shut up. His gaze was directed at a small camera that was pointed at us.

"What?" Those cameras don't have any audio." I stated, glaring at the offending device.

He shook his head and then widened his eyes at something behind me.

I turned, only to see a man, dressed in a white lab coat, holding a 'light saber', or so Barbara called them.

"SHI-" I shouted, jumping, then spasming as the man tased me. The hair on my arms rose, and I bit my lip so hard that I tasted blood. Ouch, goddamn Jesus those tasers hurt. My vision swayed, and crumbled around the edges.

…

"Jesus Christ, Dick!" I opened my eyes, and blinked warily at the picture of red. I blinked again, and my blurry vision became clearer. It was Barbara, running fingers through her bright, wavy, red hair. She was clearly very distressed.

"W-what?" My tongue felt too big and too dry in my mouth. It flopped around my teeth uselessly as I tried to talk.

"Not only did you manage to get yourself tasered, but on your first day working here, too! Goddamn it, Dick, where the hell did you even get this 'light saber'? Were you trying to kill yourself?! Why did I even trust you in the first place? You almost killed Bruce motherfucking Wayne, too! He's a fucking billionaire! It won't be long 'till his case is all sorted out, and he'll sue our asses off because of you! Now, we're off the damn case! As if there was a case in the first place, I swear to god that Hugo Strange is a fucking, goddamn dumbass! 'Oh, you can't talk, listen, or even see Bruce Wayne anymore, due to your fucking mistake!' What's next, he's going to forbid us to even breathe in the same air as Bruce? GOTHAM'S JURISDICTION MY ASS! JUST THINK ABOUT ALL THAT PAPER WORK, AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE GODDAMN PAPARAZI!"

She was now violently pulling at her hair, totally forgetting I was right in front of her. I then noticed the large, and I'm talking about gigantic, stack of papers swaying precariously on her desk. Her desk? I looked around the room I was in, and noticed that I was Barbara's office.

Mahogany wallpapers, and almost a ton of little electronic gadgets littering the floor, wasn't what I expected when I first came into her office to receive my schedule. Computer nerd still fit her image, though. In fact, it made her that much hotter.

"Umm… Babs?" I said, my tongue slurring because of my dumb tongue. I was confused. She was blaming me for tasering… myself?

"YOU!" She pointed a shaking finger at me, fury laced in her brown orbs.

I opened my mouth, but was interrupted when she started yelling at me again.

"SHUT UP! YOU'RE THE ONE TO BLAME HERE!"

I flinched, taken aback. Was this how Bruce felt, if he was falsely accused? Barbara's eyes softened, and she sighed.

She put a hand to her forehead and murmured, "Well, at least you aren't as bad as Jason…"

I quirked an eyebrow and cocked my head to the side. Jason? Where had I heard that name before? That strange feeling of Deja va, like the feeling I felt when I saw Bruce, was back. I shook my head, and got rid of those thoughts. That mystery was for later. For now, I had to clear my name.

"Babs, I didn't-"

She raised a hand to signal me to stop talking.

"Don't worry. I won't fire you. Does two weeks of dishwashing duty sound like a good enough punishment to you? The cafeteria ladies do need a vacation, anyways. I'm going to be nice, and only count this as an accident, okay? Now leave." She pointed at the door, one hand on her hip.

I sighed and left. She probably wouldn't listen to me anyways.

…

It turned out that washing the criminal's dishes sucked big time. My hands were raw with the persistent rubbing or the rag and my skin. God, why didn't this stupid prison have a dish washer?!

Also, why did I have to wash the dishes in front of the goddamn prisoners? I scowled as another criminal, presumably a rapist, cat whistled at me as I bent down to pick something up. With only a rectangular window and a steel door between the prisoners and me, I felt way unprotected. Just think about what would happen to me if the prisoners suddenly decided that they wanted to rebel? I looked up and silently thanked the real cafeteria ladies for doing their job for god knows how long. If I had been in their position, I would've resigned at once.

Suddenly the front doors of the mess hall clicked opened, and men dressed in white lab coats strolled in. They were all dressed like the man who had tasered me, and actually… I think that was the man that tasered me! I gritted my teeth, and mulled over the reason why I was still here, stuck in this stupid job. I could've easily just have gone back to the Police Force. Perhaps it was just the prospect of Bruce Wayne being falsely accused, or just to helping Barbara, that kept me rooted here.

Damn, my stupid hero complex was acting up again!

I looked outside the window, and tensed. They were walking straight towards me. Barbara had Stan give me a baton. There was no way I would be able to defend myself against men with 'light sabers' with just a baton.

The whole cafeteria was silent as the people rapped on the steel door that protected me from them.

"Open up, kitchen boy! We're from Dr. Strange; he wants you to clean this!"

I snorted. They really honestly wanted me to believe that?

My walkie-talkie (almost the only thing that Barbara had not taken from me so far), turned on, interrupting me from my doubts. An annoyed Barbara's voice wafted around my ears.

"Grayson, open the goddamn door for those people. They were the ones who saved you anyways, finding you on the ground after you stupidly electrocuted yourself, you idiot."

I sighed, looking at the security camera that was tucked into a dark corner of the room I was in.

"Fine…" I muttered, opening the door warily. I clutched my baton stick, and stilled as the men in white entered.

"You? You're the kitchen boy?" The guy, I think, that tasered me jeered, holding several trays.

I rolled my eyes. Then, I tensely, still eyeing the camera in the corner, reached out for the trays. The guy holding them dropped the stack and snickered. "Clean this up, boy." He and other men left the room, slowly sauntering out of the cafeteria. The prisoners all burst out into loud conversation just as they left.

My face was burning in red. I felt so humiliated. They did it in front of all the criminals, too. Goddamn it.

No one would've believed me if I tried to tell them the truth. Earlier, I had tried to talk to Stan about it, but no, he wouldn't listen to me. In fact, everyone I passed gave me dark looks, even Joe! The guard that could be bribed easily!

Sighing, I picked up the trays, secretly eavesdropping to the people in the other room. Though there was glass, I could scarcely hear them.

"I heard… moved to… why?"

"I don't know… do you… but he… scared… kinda sorry."

"…Meta cells…"

"Torture… holding him… evil… do you think…did it?"

The snippets of conversation I heard were mildly interesting, so I listened on as I started wiping the trays. At one point, I was lip reading what they were saying, and adding my own versions to it.

'Mmmm this potato is really good. Cat chips?' I snorted as I said this one out loud, reading it off of a hairy guy's lips.

'No thanks, mother wouldn't like it if… ooh squirrel!' I was giggling under my breath with this one, as the person looked at a random space in the roof.

I got bored eventually, and went back to rinsing and repeating with these stupid trays.

The last tray I washed had little splatters of red on it, and smelt vaguely of… was that copper? Eyes narrowing, I examined the splatters. They were definitely blood. Uneasiness filled me as I tried to believe that it was just some nosebleed. I flipped the tray around, and then something caught my eye. Wedged in between the top and bottom plastics, was the edge of a piece of paper.

Curious, I wiped my wet hands on my pants and took the paper out. It was a hard task, the paper snagged a little, but I got it out safe and sound, save for a couple of rips and tears.

I looked over it, face scrunching up. It was just a bunch of goddamn numbers, slashes, and periods. It was gibberish. Shrugging, I shoved the thing into my pocket and totally forgot about it after washing all the trays.

…

Barbara wasn't kidding about the paparazzi. One step into the parking lot, and a bunch of microphones and cameras were swarming around me.

"Is it really Bruce Wayne in there?"

"Do you think that Mr. Wayne would wear boxers or briefs?"

"Did he really smuggle those drugs?"

"Do you think that he deserves this?"

All in all, they didn't even ask for my name. How rude. I evaded all the questions, and made a beeline to my car. Dancing through the crowd, it seemed almost impossible to escape, until another guy left the prison. It was Stan. The swarm of reporters, writers, and newscasters all rushed over to him and left me alone. I chuckled at the look on Stan's face.

I drove myself home, forgetting to gas my car up. The gas meter was dangerously low, and there wasn't a gas station in miles, so I took a detour. The apple juice box was still in the backseat, and it gave me an idea. There was a guy I knew who loved apple juice, and he lived close to where I was right now. He had plenty of gas for crappy, old, junk cars like mine. Yeah, he had learned a long time ago to keep a pile of gas tanks for me.

He was my goddamn good best friend. Actually, now that I think about it, we were more like brothers of some sort. His name was Tim Drake, Microsoft and Google extraordinaire.

"TIMMY!" I yelled, once I got in his large driveway. Yeah, his job was awesome. He got to stay home, fix electronics, monitor websites on Google, and download Microsoft for people. You bet he earned a shit ton of money. He lived in a fucking mansion. He was way young, too. He and I had been friends for, like, ever since we met.

I unlocked the front door of his house, which was a freshly painted white door that fitted nicely with the yellow shade his house was painted in. Tim had the key to my house, and I had the key to his. I don't know why, but he seemed to like my apartment, he called it 'homey'.

"Dick, what can I do you for?" Tim stated, poking his head out of a pile of phones, iPads, and laptops once I got to his large room.

"You got any gas? I gotta fuel my hump-a-junk." I grinned, walking over to him, who had tried to get up but failed, slipping on something and falling back down.

"Yeah, you know where the gas is." He awkwardly pointed over his shoulder, his feet submerged in electronics.

I waved and went to the garage, where his three expensive cars were held, along with my gas. Yup, you could say I was a little jealous of his fortune, but oh well. He lived his life, and I lived mine.

"I SAW YOU ON THE NEWS!" Tim yelled, still in the other room, and I laughed. They had actually recorded me? I hadn't said anything, though.

"YEAH, I WAS PRACTICALLY SWARMED!" I yelled back, spotting the red gasoline canteen.

There was a moment of silence before, "OH! HEY DICK, YOU DROPPED THIS!"

"DROPPED WHAT?" I heard a loud thump, and chuckled. Tim had probably fallen again. He was pretty clumsy.

"THIS PIECE OF PAPER. AND DON'T LAUGH AT ME! I FELL, AND IT HURT! THESE PHONES ARE HARD, GODDAMN IT!"

I snorted. "THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID! OH, AND YOU CAN KEEP THAT PAPER. IT'S JUST A BUNCH OF CRAP."

I brought the gasoline out of Tim's garage, and walked back to the room where Tim was in. The gasoline sloshed around, and it was quite heavy.

"HEY DICK! THESE AREN'T JUST-"

"Timmy, you don't have to yell. I'm right here." I showed him the gasoline, but his attention remained at the piece of paper. He was squinting at it.

"Where did you get this?" Tim said, finally looking up at me.

I shrugged. "A cafeteria tray."

Tim's reaction was hilarious. He made a duck face as he realized that I wasn't being sarcastic.

"Seriously?" He looked at the paper again with a scrutinizing gaze. "This isn't just gibberish. It's an advanced type of computer code. Holy crud, this is magnificent! I've never seen someone use this code! This is gonna take me forever for me to decode!"

He smiled. Tim loved challenges. He didn't get many of them, and would do whatever he would solve them. Back when I was a police officer, I showed my case files to him, just so I could get his opinion. He was a great detective. Too bad he wanted to be a tech savvy.

"Cool." I stated. "Uhm, can I take this gasoline with me? I'll return it tomorrow."

He nodded, back to staring intently at the piece of paper, completely immersed.

I shrugged. At times like this, Tim didn't listen to anything. To prove my point, I said loudly, "Also, I sold your house to this lovely Jewish couple, who have the cutest dog. They bought every piece of clothing that you owned, so strip. They're moving in right now. I suggest you go home shopping very quickly. All the proceeds go to me, and I've cut you in on one percent of the rent. Oh yeah, the moon just got blown up by some rainbow aliens, too."

Tim nodded, still skimming over the contents of the paper. "Uh-huh…"

Rolling my eyes, I walked towards his front door. "See ya tomorrow, then." Tim mumbled something that I didn't hear.

I filled up my car, threw the gas in the trunk, and then proceeded to drive to my house. The unopened Apple juice hid deep in my peripheral vision yet again, mocking the crap out of me all the way home.

I lived in a crappy apartment, near a really, really, really bad neighborhood. And I was talking bad. Like, drugs, sex, alcohol, abuse, illegal shit, raping, and etc. bad. There wasn't much of my police salary that didn't go into taxes, mortgage, or food. I was hoping that this new job would at least give me enough money for a better car, or whatever.

Compared to Tim's house, my apartment sucked. Since the elevator was 'out of order' (it had been like that for like six months now), I had to walk up several flights of stairs. A man with a mustache and poofy black hair walked past me. Funny, I had never seen him before, and I knew almost everyone that lived near me.

"Are you new here?" I asked the man, who was already a flight of stairs below me. I rechecked his face. Yup, I did not know this guy.

His ratty circle glassed glared in the light as he turned. A little smirk was on his face, and his scratchy voice sent shivers down my back.

"I don't believe so." He promptly waked away.

I shrugged it off and continued up my apartment. Hey, I've met even stranger people.

A cold paranoia set in my stomach as I noticed my door. It was wide open.

Crouching down, I slowly opened the door, ready for a surprise. No one jumped up at me, but my jaw dropped to the ground as I stared at my home. It was ransacked. Every goddamn thing I owned was on the ground in shambles.

"GODDAMN THE FUCKING GODDAMN WORLD!"

This would be Hell to clean up. I knew that I lived in a dangerous neighborhood, but seriously?!

I looked for anything missing, assuming that whoever ransacked my home were thieves. Nothing was gone. It was almost like the thieves were looking for something. A cold feeling of dread ran through me as I realized that since there wasn't anything taken, it meant that the thieves hadn't found what they were originally looking for. That meant that they would be coming back.

I gulped as something in my closet creaked. Picking up the closest thing next to me, I held it in the air as a weapon. It was a lamp.

"Oh goddamn it! This was my favorite lamp!" I groaned, whispering angrily. There was broken ceramic everywhere. This is why I can't own nice things!

I slowly let go of the lamp. I knew martial arts, so this lamp was totally unnecessary. Maybe I could glue the broken pieces back together?

I opened the closet door, tensing up for an attack. A little cat skittered out, meowing and hissing at me.

Laughing, I picked up the kitten and nuzzled it.

"Where did you come from?"

I tucked the kitten under my arms, and went to my bedroom. There was no way in Hell that I was going to stay here for the night. Not after someone broke in.

The cat I had in my arms probably came from the outside, since my door had been left open. The cat was a reddish-orange tabby with wide green eyes that desperately looked like it needed some food and a bath.

"I'ma call you Wally." I stated, putting the kitten down as I packed my stuff. I was going to go to Tim's house. Maybe he had decoded the piece of paper?

Wally meowed. He was surprisingly docile, for a stray feral cat.

"Wait. Are you a stray?" I looked down at Wally, who was nuzzling my leg. He certainly didn't look like a house pet, with his ribs visible underneath his fur.

I zipped up my suitcase, and walked to my refrigerator. Wally followed me, meowing and purring. Talking out some tuna, I opened it, and left it on my welcome mat, which was outside my apartment. There was no way I was going to keep Wally, as much as I wanted to, because he was a wild animal. And, well, wild animals were supposed to stay in the wild.

As he crouched down and started to lick at the tuna happily, I closed my front door and started to my car. I opened the passenger door to my car, and threw my suitcase in. I closed the door just as an orange streak rocketed into my car. Wally stared at me from inside the car, purring. His ears twitched, and he seemingly made a sound that sounded not unlike a laugh.

Damn, that cat was fast! Chuckling, I gave in. I'd just have to bring Wally with me. Maybe Tim would take a liking to Tim? First, I took my phone and dialed Amy.

"Hey Amy!"

"What? How's your job? Oh and how did you get this number? This is for my personal cell!"

I rolled my eyes at her haughty tone. Classic Amy. "You gave me this phone number, dipshit. Also, could you investigate something, under the radar please? I hate paparazzi, and I think the guy might be thinking about doing it again, so you could catch him or her in the act."

"What? What happened?! You were only gone one day-"

I cut her off, sighing. Jeez, this all did happen in one day. "Amy, someone broke into my apartment." That shut her up. I could hear her clicking the safety of her gun on and off on the other end of the line.

"What happened? Are you hurt?" I scoffed at her tone of concern.

"I'm fine. I just need you to find out who broke in. I don't even have access to police files anymore, 'cause I'm a friggn' jail guard!" It was true; Amy had taken my badge away, so now I didn't have any jurisdiction to enforce people to give me a real answer when I asked them in Bludhaven.

"Okay. Bye." She hung up, her concern before seemingly gone.

I got into my car, patted Wally on the head, and drove to Tim's house.

In the middle of the ride, Wally started yowling, clawing at everything in sight. He was probably hungry, and I did have to go to the bathroom, so I pulled up into an almost deserted Seven Eleven. The only other car in the parking lot was bright red, and I could see it clearly even though it was in the middle of the night.

Wally yowled at me again as I got out of my car. "Fine, fine, I'll get you some food." I said, rubbing my temples.

I walked into the store to buy some beef jerky and hopefully get to use a clean bathroom. Suddenly, I heard a gruff voice growl, "Gimme all the cigs, or I'll shoot!"

Damn it, today was just my lucky day, huh. I tried to hide from the robber, but the door jingled merrily as it shut behind me.

"PUT YOUR HANDS UP!" The guy yelled at me, but I dropped down and rolled. Two bullets lodged themselves on the huge refrigerator above me. I sighed in relief. At least this dude wasn't using an automatic. Thank god for the small miracles in life.

I had to see how many bullets this guy's gun could hold. I stood up, heard another shot, and dropped down. Fortunately, I had seen the guy's gun. It was only designed to hold eight bullets. The robber himself was wearing a leather brown jacket, and a mysterious white streak ran through the front of his black hair. He had already shot three bullets. As long as the guy didn't have another cartridge to reload, then I could totally take him down.

Then I remembered that the robber had a hostage, the gas station cashier guy. Other than that, there were no other people.

Oh crud, crud, crud, crud, crud, crud, crud…. Hostages were very bad…

My police instincts clicked on, and I slowly army-crawled to the register booth.

"STOP MOVING!" I heard the calm, unnerving voice of the robber yell at me. I stopped. This guy seemed experienced. Then my mind caught up to what he had said to the cashier when I had fist walked in.

"_Gimme all the cigs, or I'll shoot!"_ This dude didn't want money… he wanted cigarettes?

"Um…" I shouted from my hiding place, "Are you seriously shooting people over cigars?

I couldn't see the guy, but I imagined a large smirk had blossomed on his face when I had asked him this. There was another loud bang, right above my head. Four bullets left.

"Yeah, what's it to ya? A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do for a pack of cigarettes!"

I shrugged, and slowly started making my way to the booth again.

"You're really risking going to jail for… let's say, about half your life, over a pack of fucking cigarettes?" I was almost there, and out of the corner of my eyes, I saw the cashier guy still standing, but, at least there wasn't a gun pointed at his head.

Reaching my destination, I grabbed the chair that had been in my sights for the whole time. I took a firm hold of it, inspecting its durability. It looked and felt good enough.

I jumped up and yelled "GET DOWN!"

The cashier guy automatically got down, crouching hands to his head style, much to the robber's chagrin

I charged, blindly but logically, going serpentine, and deflected three bullets. The last one buried itself right into my right leg. Ouch. I looked down, assessing the damage, and sighed in relief as I saw that the bullet had not nicked any arteries. I kept running. My body switched to autopilot, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I heard the clicking of the gun, as the bullets finally ran out. I heard the robber curse, and reach for a new casing of bullets. It was too late for him. I knocked the gun out of his hand, and brought my good leg up to his stomach.

Now I had the advantage. I flipped the guy on his back, and heard the cashier cheering me on from behind the register. He was nervously peeking out at me.

"Whoo! Go 'n kick his ass! I ain't getting' fired today! No cigarettes for you! Ha, ha, this'll teach you!"

I rolled my eyes mid-punch as the kid kept on talking up a shit storm of insults at the robber guy. I almost kinda felt sorry for him, but boy could that kid say a bunch of things before taking a breath.

The robber groaned in pain. Now that my adrenaline was fading, my right leg was on fucking fire.

"OW. Goddamn Jesus! My leg!" I shouted in pain. I stopped kicking him, and jeez it actually did really hurt.

"Hey, Cashier Guy?!" I yelled, getting the man's attention, though my vision blurred momentarily, "Do ya got any bandages?"

The guy nodded, disappearing behind the counter. I sighed and slid onto the ground, clutching my wound to keep the blood from escaping. The robber guy moaned from the ground near me, and I picked up a nearby plastic coffee mug and threw it at him. There was a loud clunk and a curse, before all was quiet except for my labored breathing.

"Um… will this do?" The cashier threw a roll of gauze near me, and I nodded. "Do you want me to call the cops or…?"

"Nah." I said, wrapping the white bandage around my leg. "I got this. Though, do you have any beef jerky and a bathroom?" I still hadn't taken a shit yet, and now, a sudden urge to go got me scrambling to my feet.

"Yeah," Bart, I read his nametag, stated, running his hand through his fiery red hair. He pointed at a little alcove near one of the walls. "That's where the bathrooms are, and these are on the house, free of charge." He handed me a large pack of original beef jerky, and then stared anxiously at the robber laying passed out on the floor.

I noticed his gaze. "Yeah, you should probably tie that guy up." I started limping towards the male lavatories.

"His name's Jason Todd! He's been terrorizing this stretch of town for weeks, just so you know!" Bart shouted behind me. I nodded at the information. Another Jason, huh… could this just be a coincidence?

After I was done relieving myself, I went out to my car and took Wally out. I opened the bag of beef jerky, and Wally started munching on them quite happily.

"I'm gonna call the police now!" I yelled at Bart, through the glass of the store, and he gave me a thumbs up. I spotted Jason tied to a chair, seemingly asleep and snorted. That bastard had shot me in the friggin' leg. He deserved to be on that chair.

I waved my (crappy) phone in the air, waiting to receive better service. Yeah, I probably looked like a complete idiot.

"Yo Amy!" I yelled into my phone, calling my boss's personal cell yet again today.

"Yeah? I'm checking your apartment right now- and Jesus, Dick, why does everything smell like tuna?!"

My leg throbbed again. "Just get over here! I've been shot, and goddamn it my leg is on fire!" I felt another burning sensation on my throbbing leg. "Wally, stop licking it! That hurts!"

Amy sounded doubtful. "Really? You aren't just prank calling me? And who's Wally? Why is he licking your-"

"NO! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE AND HELP! I ACTUALLY AM IN A CRITICAL SITUATION, AND I MANAGED TO CAPTURE A ROBBER WHILE AT IT. HIS NAME IS JASON TODD!."

"Ok. Hell, Dick, all in one fucking day?"

"Yes, this all happened in one fucking day. Now get over here, dumbass."

"Where are you?"

I looked at the glowing sign behind me. A gentle green, yellow, and white light covered my face.

"…A Seven Eleven?"

I could literally hear Amy rolling her eyes on the other end. "…Seriously? Dick, out of all the places-"

"Shut up and come here already! It's off of Route Seventeen!"

"Sure, but-"

I cut her off, as a realization hit me. "WAIT A GODDAMN MINUTE! Does Seven Eleven even sell cigarettes?!"

_**AND HOLY CRUD CAKES! Um… first thing first… sorry for all the insistent swearing… also… the whole updating thing… I've actually had this whole stupid chapter on my computer, finished, and it just needed an Author's Note and an editor. So yeah. Sorry about that. Also, typing six thousand words takes me a lot more than a week. Maybe two weeks, at best. **_

_**On a much better note, THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS!**_

_**America and Iggy: Yes, Stan Lee is the creator of Spiderman, so kudos for you!**_

_**Captain Curiosity: Thank for that, it kinda motivated me to actually post this chapter! I hope that you get to read this chapter and like it too…**_

_**RavensandCrowes: Thank you too, you also helped motivate me!**_

_**I'm not very happy with this chapter, because I feel like too many things happen at once, but oh well. I just like the fact that I got to incorporate Wally (West) and Bart (Allen) in this chappy! Also, just imagine Tim as a Google and Microsoft extraordinaire~! The thought itself just makes me happy, 'cause I would totally want him to fix my computers all the time! Oh, and don't kill me for not putting Wally back in the wild and don't say it's animal abuse or crap like that because Wally is actually a domesticated cat that ran from his home. If you didn't know, the real Wally West had an abusive father, and was saved by his uncle, who was the Flash at that time. So, this Wally (the cat) was abused and neglected from his owners as well, but this time, Dick saved him. Yeah, it's pretty sad, but I'm too evil so oh well, and I love the angst. Next chappy, y'all gonna find all about Tim's "secret" allergy, and what's happening with Bruce Wayne.**_

_**Disclaimer: Hell, I don't even know who the original creator of Batman was! If I did, I would want to stalk them and probably get married to them. Until then, I'll just sit here praying for more good movies from DC.**_

_**Last thing: who here doesn't use an Oxford comma? Like, come on, that comma is so important!  
**_

_**Last-last thing: WHO WANTS TO BE MY BETA?! GRAMMAR AND EDITING AIN'T MY THING, AND I'M PRETTY DESPERATE!**_

_**Last-last-last thing: I'ma rename the Bludhaven prison to just 'Lockhaven'.**_


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